


Immortals Don't Cry

by Themidnightraven091796



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Death, Falling In Love, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-08 18:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themidnightraven091796/pseuds/Themidnightraven091796
Summary: over the years Crowley and Aziraphale had grown close...very closeat first, neither understood what feelings they were havingeverything is great when the lovable idiots figure it outand then....





	1. In the beginning

Crowley and Aziraphale had always had a complex and trying relationship. Since Eden there had been tensions of all sorts. Both angel and demon questioned whether what they had done was right or wrong. Aziraphale was troubled. He watched Adam and Eve leave the garden from the eastern wall. He had given them his flaming sword for their protection. And as he contemplated, Crawley slithered up to introduce himself.  
Aziraphale felt the concern and admiration coming off the snake-eyed demon in waves. He was confused, but he felt like he had known him his whole existence. He thought, perhaps, he had. What angel had you been? Were they friends once, long ago, before time itself…before the great fall?  
Crawley was intrigued by the angel who had given away his flaming sword to the humans. He wasn’t a robotic soldier like many of the other angels he had known. Aziraphale, the Principality, was as kind as they come. The angel seemed familiar and Crawley instantly felt a connection with him.  
As the booming thunder of the Earth’s first storm broke the quiet, Crawley shivered. It was in his snake-like nature to hate the cold. If he was being honest with himself, Crawley was also a bit scared. Aziraphale, out of pure instinct, lifted his left wing to shield Crawley from the rain. And it was the start to a great friendship.  
Over the years the two became more and more accustomed to each other. Eventually they considered each other friends. It was in 1793, the French Revolution, when Crowley rescued Aziraphale from being awkwardly discorporated via guillotine. The adorable idiot had popped over to get crepes! Though, if either were to be honest with each other, their true friendship started centuries before that.  
It was most likely in the dreadful 14th century. It was hands down Crowley’s least favorite. If he could forget it all happened, he would. But it was “the arrangement” that had solidified their bond. They had realized just how much they had in common.  
And as the years went by, they saw more and more of each other. It became somewhat routine. They found themselves relying on the other’s company.  
As they had discovered long ago, they both enjoyed a good stiff drink. Crowley a bit more perhaps, but Aziraphale loved his wines. Both had made the habit of enjoying a bit too much at times. And on occasion, both would be so inebriated that something would take hold of them. That something was the urge to confess subconscious feelings or whatever thought that happened to enter their mind.  
Crowley had never tried to hide how his feelings for the angel were growing over the years. This isn’t to say he understood them, but he prided himself on being an honest demon...most of the time.  
So, when both angel and demon found themselves in a stupor, things tended to sneak out.  
“Angel? Have-Have-Have I ever told you-ever told- ever-I want to touch your curlsss- your hair.”  
Aziraphale blushed behind his half-empty wine glass. He hiccupped as he giggled to himself.  
“No dear boy, you haven’t. But I’m glad to hear it.”  
Aziraphale hiccupped once more, smiling wide as he watched Crowley finally take off his sunglasses.  
“You shouldn’t hide behind those glasses. Your eyes are actually quite lovely.”  
Crowley would get incredibly red when Aziraphale said things like that. It made him feel all bubbly inside. Not a very demonic thing at all.  
“Thanks Angel, but you know how those humans react…”  
“yes. Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

Most of their drunken times together ended the same way. One would finally realize that they were going to say or do something beyond friendly. They would sober up and part ways. Times like this seemed to become more frequent as time went on.  
And then one night……


	2. Better Late Than Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily based off the scene in Good Omens where Crowley saves Aziraphale from being killed by Nazi's  
I've taken direct quotes from the scene   
sorry it's a lazy way of writing but I want certain parts of the story to fit neatly in with what we see in the show

And then one night…...  
It was 1941 and bombs whistled through the air as they plummeted down. Crowley had been moving as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He didn’t need to explain to the Head office why he was found caught in the middle of an air raid. He was almost in the clear too, until he passed by a church on the corner.  
He sensed Aziraphale inside that church. The last time they had spoke they had had a fight. It was all a misunderstanding. Crowley didn’t want a “suicide pill”. The only reason he wanted the holy water was for protection. His friendship with the angel was dangerous for both of them. The holy water was intended to protect his angel, his love.  
Crowley whipped the Bentley back around in the direction of the church. He could feel Aziraphale growing more anxious. Something was wrong, he could feel the evil oozing out of the building. Crowley screeched to a halt and dashed toward the church. Demon hearing is much stronger than human hearing. From outside he could hear two German men and a woman. They were humans, Crowley slowed his pace a bit, holding off on storming onto consecrated ground. He listened for a bit, straightening his shirt and his hat that had fallen to one side.  
…  
“You have been exceedingly helpful, Mr. Fell. Such a pity you must be eliminated, but take heart, just another death in the Blitz.”  
“That’s not very sporting.”  
“you do not appear worried my friend.”  
“He’s not worried.”  
“Who is she?”  
“she, my double-dealing Nazi acquaintance, is the reason why none of those books are going back to Berlin, and why your nasty little spy ring will be spending the rest of the war behind bars. Let me introduce you to Captain Rose Montgomery of British Military Intelligence.”  
“Thank you for the introduction.”  
“Our side know all about you two. She recruited me to work for you. And now she’s going to tell you that this building is surrounded by British agents, and that you two have been—what is that lovely American expression? Played for suckers!”  
“Yes, about that---”  
“Right everyone! Come on! Round them up! ---Rose, where exactly are your people?”  
The German men laughed.  
“We are all here.”  
“Allow me to introduce Fraulin Greta Kleinschmidt.”  
“She works with us.”

Crowley had heard enough. He ran for the doors and burst in. Consecrated ground hurt like a bitch. He hopped from foot to foot toward the Sanctuary.  
“You can’t kill me,” Aziraphale whined “There’ll be paperwork.”  
Crowley slammed the doors open and jogged toward Aziraphale and the men and the woman who were holding him at gun point. He groaned from the pain.  
Aziraphale looked shocked and relieved. His eyes were wide, and his lips pursed like he was about the speak. The group stared at him.  
“Sorry, consecrated ground. Oh! It’s like being at the beach in bare feet.”  
It was in fact much worse, but he didn’t want the angel to worry.  
“What are you doing here!?”  
“Stopping you getting into trouble.”  
“I should have known. Of course. These people are working for you.”  
“No! They’re a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.”  
Crowley was cringing and trying to contain a scream of pain. Being in the church was draining him.  
“Mr. Anthony J Crowley. Your fame proceeds you.”  
“Anthony?” Aziraphale questioned.  
“You don’t like it?” Crowley frowned.  
“No, no. I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.”  
“The famous Mr. Crowley?” The woman beamed, still holding them both at gun point. She looked Crowley up and down like she could eat him up.   
Crowley tipped his hat at her. He continued to bounce back and forth.  
“What does the “J” strand for?” Aziraphale asked him.  
Crowley stammered, now a bit nervous. “It’s just a “J” really. --- Look at that! A whole fontful of holy water. It doesn’t even have guards!”  
Aziraphale looked over at Crowley with a concerned look on his face. Crowley knew he still didn’t trust him.  
“Enough babbling, kill them both.”  
“Now was Crowley’s time to shine. It was going to take a hell lot out of him, but he would live and so would his angel. With a quick wave of his hand, he miracle up a solution to his little problem.  
“In about a minute, a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right HERE.If you all run away  
VERY, VERY fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”  
The group stared at him incredulously.  
“You expect us to believe that? The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”  
Aziraphale moved so that he stood right beside Crowley, shoulders brushing against each other.  
“Yes. It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.”  
Aziraphale looked over at Crowley, stunned. Crowley had just performed a “miracle” on consecrated ground. He could now see just how weak he was becoming. The color was draining out of him and single tear drop ran down his face.  
“You’re all wasting your valuable running away time. And if, in 30 seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a REAL miracle for my friend and I to survive it.”  
Aziraphale’s eyes bugged out of his head as he understood what Crowley was asking.  
“A-A real miracle?”  
The group had gotten irritated again. “Kill. They are very irritating.”  
Oh! The books! Crowley thought. He snapped and then pointed in the air to the sound of air whistling above them. He grinned.  
BOOM! The church was demolished. The Nazi’s were buried under the rubble, presumed dead. Aziraphale looked around in dismay. A perfectly good church, ruined. He made eye contact with Crowley, who was now resting on a smoldering ceiling beam. He was cleaning his glasses like nothing had happened. But Aziraphale could see his hands shaking and he was deathly pale.  
Aziraphale removed his hat and placed it over his heart.  
“That was very kind of you,” he said sincerely.  
“Shut up!” Crowley said half-heartedly, placing his glasses back on his face. He slowly stood up and stretched.  
“well, it was. No paperwork for a start. —Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! —Oh, they’ll all be blown to- “  
Crowley, with all the swagger he could muster, had sauntered over to the miraculously untouched suitcase. He pried it from the dead Nazi’s hand. He grunted.  
“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home, angel?”  
Aziraphale was astonished. He took the bag from Crowley and watched as his dear friend walked away without another word. A light fluttering feeling was rising in his chest. Aziraphale knew this feeling all too well. It was a bit more breathtaking and it scared the hell out of him. He, in that moment realized he was IN love with his best friend…the demon…Crowley.  
Aziraphale gasped, smiled, and then followed after Crowley. And as he climbed into the Bentley, he found himself longing to hug his dear friend ever so tightly. He had never tried before so he didn’t know how he would react. How could a demon be so kind? Crowley not only saved his life, but he saved the rare books. He walked onto consecrated ground to do all this. He could have just as easily let Aziraphale discorporate. How had he never seen the way Crowley did so much for him?  
Aziraphale thought back on all their meetings over the years. He thought of all the dumb things they had said to each other while drunk. And he blushed ruby red.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his demon smirking…and staring.  
“Ready to go home Angel?”


End file.
